


Azmaveth

by markipwiwer



Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Body Horror, Multiverse Theory, Science Fiction, Septiplier is an eldritch beast, god um, i don’t even know what to call this, like basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 13:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17408102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markipwiwer/pseuds/markipwiwer
Summary: An unworldly abomination, two beings forced together by a community to create a monster.It’s name is Septiplier.-HEAVILY inspired by queenofspades010 on Tumblr! Thank you for letting me write about your beautiful ten foot beauty.





	Azmaveth

**Author's Note:**

> yall ever write something and just think,,,, what the fuck bro

Wilford had never, as far as he was concerned, had the pleasure or burden of putting someone out of their misery. Not at least since war.

Death wasn’t a thing as far as he was concerned. There were so many different realities, so many versions of so many people that even if one person “died” in one reality, chances were they were still very alive in several other realities Wilford frequented. Permadeath was a concept at best.

A lot, if not most folks, believed in it wholeheartedly. But Wilford knew better.

He’d shrug and dismiss those who got all too caught up in Egos who came and went. The lesser known ones that were mentioned once and then faded into obscurity, knowing life and breathing air for all of a few months before just ceasing to exist.

Hell, in some meta narrative he was aware that he’d once merely existed as a laughable costume and a moustache that wouldn’t stop falling off. His very own speech impediment stemming from an injury sustained in his youth, all based around a manner of talking to keep a bit of plastic on his blue prints upper lip.

Dark had been a flicker at the edge of ones vision and little more. Merely the implication of something worse. Edward, their good doctor, an incredibly callous, apathetic and almost abusive man in his profession. The Host barely got his origin story before things... stopped.

And yet here they all were, in this little slice of universe, existing. There was a damn good reason that Wilford had a hard time takin anything seriously when he had half a brain functioning.

This Ego, though, seemed to appear out of nowhere. Faceless, grotesque, an amalgamation of a concept of a... relationship. Of a bond between friends.

There were many who refused to talk about it and shunned those who did, and then all of a sudden it forced its way into the limelight.

 

It didn’t exist anywhere as much as it existed here. Most other universes, it was a glimpse of something ugly that was quelled by a good community. In another, a passion project that never lifted off the ground. Maybe in some far off universe it didn’t need to be a monster - it was a reality there.

Here though, in an alleyway built out of obscurity and uncertainty where ideas go to die, it towered over Wilfords already tall stature, and Wilford scarcely had it in him to be afraid.

He stared up at it - them - wide-eyed and slack-jawed in awe.

“You’re... beautiful.”

Septiplier. It was an obvious enough metaphor, the mashing together of two beings that never really fit for the purposes of... entertainment? Curiosity? Perhaps it felt it had some back story, a circus freak or a scientific experiment gone extremely awry, but of course Wilford knew better.

Despite his knowledge, he thought it would be polite to ask, at least.

“What’s your name?”

At first, the mouth tried to say two different things at once but it warped and struggled to get the sound out. The result was something slurred together that vaguely resembles a word.

“...Azmaveth...”

“Hmm, that sounds rather foreign. Well, I know exactly where you belong.”

-

Dark was unimpressed with Wilfords find, and he had no qualms vocalising it.

“We absolutely CANNOT house this creature. We don’t know what kind of danger it poses, what powers it may have, it’s clearly not supposed to be, Wilford!”

Wilford held one of the abominations hands tight. The other three were fidgeting.

“But they are an Ego. We’ve never abandoned one of our own before.”

Dark hadn’t seen Wilford this serious about anything for a long time and it was almost refreshing to know Wilford was still... with it, if not in the worst possible ways.

Dark ran a hand through his hair frustratedly, knowing this wasn’t a fight worth having. He could probably deal with it if push came to shove, he’d just rather not bother.

“Fine. But it’s your responsibility. I’m not paying for damages, and if anything happens... you will deal with the consequences.”

“You got it, Darkling!”

Wilford almost tried to run off with the creature, he was so giddy, but he held back his excitement as to not trip the poor dear over. It seemed to have a hard time balancing on its own, what with the haphazard way it was thrown together, and its arms were constant wanting to brace for falling over.

-

Wilford took Azmaveth out for coffee. A secluded little place just left of sanity where lots of non-humans drank versions of the dirty human bean juice. It was practically hipster, but it was the safest in between of a human-like experience without having to be around those who could not understand the beauty of Azmaveths existence.

“You really seemed to struggle with the name earlier. Do you have seperate names?”

It nodded, sort of. Inasmuch as it could do something as simple as nodding without switching faces entirely.

“Well then, Red can go first, and then Green, alright?”

There was a grunt and some rearranging, and then it took its turn to speak.

“Sephtis. Bressal.”

Wilford nodded, taking a sip of his own coffee. Azmaveth was less inclined to pick theirs up for fear of breaking the cup, which was fair enough.

“Do you call yourself Azmaveth as a whole?”

If Wilford didn’t know any better, he’d say the eyes briefly tried to look at each other before remembering they couldn’t. It was sweet to watch them interact, if not a little painful.

“Means... death.”

“On the contrary, I checked with The Host and it’s more of a... strong death. A death that comes with dignity and honour, not your standard fizzle out of existence sort of deal.”

Azmaveth had clearly struggled with being understood or taken seriously, even back at... wherever the hell they were from. But Wilford just wanted to know. There was only one of them, one just like this and Wilford HAD to know every detail, every nook and cranny of their existence.

As Wilford looked up at them, literally twice as tall as he was, Bressal started to weep. Sephtis attempted to look at his crying brother with confusion, but when Wilford reached out to hold one of the paler hands, they gasped.

“Why are you crying, my dear?”

They struggled to form words together, so Bressal spoke solely through his sobs.

“Used to be h-human... like you... n-now it’s pain... I am p-pain...”

Wilford shook his head, bringing both the pale hand and a more tanned one to his lips, kissing them both gently.

“No, no...! You’re both so beautiful, even together, trust me.”

Sephtis took over the mouth momentarily to clarify.

“Hurts, Wil-Ford. Hurts to be. Wish we weren’t... here.”

The way they said his name, both broken and in unison somehow, broke Wilfords heart. He knew what existing in pain felt like all to well, and they had no choice in the matter.

Bressal whimpered.

“Help... us...”

Wilford furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, before following their line of sight to his gun holster, always right by his side in places like this - just in case.

“What?! Oh, you little scamp, I could never, it wouldn’t even work like that, it couldn’t...”

Wilford trailed off. He knew quite well they were the only one. If only one existed, and only one died, what would happen?

Was it really possible to take someone out of existence like that?

Wilford felt a headache coming on just thinking about it. Maybe he’d talk to The Host. But for now...

“No more talk like that. Drink your coffee, I’ll help. And then we can go back and I’ll show you my studio.”

Wilford stood up from his chair, coffee unfinished, to assist Azmaveth, bringing the cup up to their mouth for them. After a sip, Sephtis smiled as much as Bressal frowned.

“Mmm. Tea is... better.”

Wilford let out a bark of laughter at that.

-

Wilford watched the two interact over the course of a month, slowly getting better at their hands-eyes coordination, and every now and then, their expression seemed so neutral that they must have both been trying to smile. Instead, they bared their strange, deformed teeth, and Wilfords heart would skip a beat at the apparent progress.

They definitely worked better alone, though. They preferred after hours when the studio wasn’t as busy, less people to gawk at them. They’d fix lights and hang decorations and Wilford fashioned them a huge bed so they might sleep a little more comfortably.

But Dark continued to express his concerns.

“You keep treating them like normal Egos but they’re not. And you know it.”

“But they’re getting better, Darkling! They’ll be able to come to meetings soon, I’m sure of it! Just need to work on those social skills a little more and we’ll be ready!”

Dark shook his head, and he lowered his voice. Not in a menacing way, if anything it was the closest Dark could get to what one might call sympathetic.

“Do you not hear them every night? Where they cry and talk only of ways they might end their life? I’m not asking you to abandon them, Wilford. I’m...”

Dark sighed, as if he really didn’t want to continue the conversation, especially with the troubled way Wilford was looking at him.

“I’m asking you to take responsibility like you said you would. You have powers even I don’t understand. If you can’t stop their pain, then say so. But if you can, for Christ sake, please end their suffering.”

Wilford felt a lump at his throat with the way Dark spoke of them. Not a month ago he’d almost demonised them in the same way everyone else did, but now it seemed Dark actually cared to some degree, and that was a little scary.

“Dark, I cant, they’re... they’re so young, rascals really, they don’t even know what life is yet!”

“Do you really want to give them the opportunity to know what a life like theirs would entail?”

Wilford hung his head in defeat. He didn’t want to think about it right now.

-

Wilford brought Azmaveth to a very important meeting. They’d been working on this project for months, and even though Azmaveth didn’t seem particularly fond of the idea behind it all, they liked being useful. Inasmuch as they could like anything.

The whole day they were dragging their feet more than usual, knowing they’d need to sit in and interact and be stared at by the other Egos, most of which they’d only heard about.

They’d met The Host. He was... kind. If not a little creepy. And he always called them Septiplier, likely because that’s how Wilford called them on good days. It was only in serious conversations that Wilford used their names.

They sat in the corner, curled up in a ball, and as each Ego came into the meeting room, only a select couple gave them more than a passing glance. That was refreshing in some strange way but...

Especially for Sephtis, seeing people walk by with the face he used to have before it was torn apart, broken and almost absorbed, he realised in some distant way that he wasn’t going to fit in anywhere.

The outside world hated them for existing, but here, he was supposed to look like them. And instead he was a brutal misconception of what an Ego was supposed to be.

Bressal, too, felt incredibly outcasted, seeing the faces of his brother walk by without so much as an acknowledgment of his side, of his part of existence. They were so ingrained together to the outside world that at least they were wrong TOGETHER, but here he couldn’t even have that. He couldn’t be wrong and he couldn’t be right. He’d always be off somewhere else, in pain and irrelevant.

As Wilford began his presentation, the chattering of the room died down and Wilford looked so proud of his accomplishment. Every now and then he’d look to the corner, with a huge smile on his face, and Azmaveth would try to bear their teeth lovingly in response but the emotions running through both their hearts and minds at once was so overwhelming.

Bressal was the first to start crying, though at least he was silent about it. Knowing his face would always be the odd one out no matter where he went.

Sephtis tried to strike his brothers pale arm but he pulled away, in turn pulling the other in a strange way as they both tried to curl in on themselves. The push and pull of the exchange, a desperate plea of waiting just a little while longer so we can be away from these people, but it wasn’t going to happen.

The presentation stopped.

“So, what do you think?”

Azmaveth froze, hoping to some listening God that Wilford wasn’t talking to them.

“Well this is bullshit!”

A voice with a strange little accent spoke up instead, and then it was chaos. Everyone spoke over the top of each other, The were loud and opinionated and even Dark was ringing from across the room, and it hurt, there were so many people, so many voices, and Azmaveth began to stutter and whimper in unison.

“Wil-Ford... Help...”

But Wilford could scarcely hear over every other Ego in the room. They all wanted to throw in their own two cents, even Egos that didn’t seem relevant at all, and Azmaveth thought their head might explode from the pressure.

“Wil!-Ford!”

Still nothing, it was getting unbearable, they curled in closer on themselves and that only tore at their skin, and Wilford was clearly getting worked up over the whole thing. After all, he’d put so much time and effort into this project, it had been his passion and all anyone wanted to do was criticise.

Dark saw Wilford was losing track of Azmaveth in his own mind, getting far more focused on himself, on how irrelevant everyone here was, the way he waved his hands about to dismiss everyone.

“H-ELP! WIL-FORD! PLE-ASE!”

Azmaveths voice molded into something terrible, and yet almost coherent. For a moment, they sounded... like a real person.

Like the human they may have once been.

Wilford huffed and shut everybody up. Momentary peace that wouldn’t last for more than a second before pain shooting through them again with a passion. Dark had spoken and the ringing burned their insides.

“Alright, alright, oh-kay! God.”

Wilford turned to the writhing mess of skin and sadness that Azmaveth has become. Wilford barely raises an eyebrow.

“Well, what do you think, Septiplier?”

“KILL ME. KILL ME.”

Wilford drew his gun and shrugged. Across the room, Dark stiffened. He had forgotten how easily Wilford could point the barrel of his gun at someone’s head, not even thinking.

At least it would be quick. Wilford chuckled, and it made Darks ski crawl.

“Alright, whatever you say, you little scamp!”

Wilfords giggle that sounded as broken and as lost as Azmaveth felt was the last experience they had before true peace took over in a flash.


End file.
